Anything But Ordinary
by wincasters
Summary: When a romance goes awry, Rachel is forced to deal with the consequences. Luckily, she doesn't have to do it alone. Rachel/Puck.
1. Chapter One

**Title: **Anything But Ordinary  
**Rating: **T  
**Pairing: **Rachel/Puck, Rachel/OC, Rachel/Santana (friendship)  
**Disclaimer: **If I owned Glee, I would write a character in for myself and make out with Mark Salling every day. Alas, it isn't so...

* * *

When she first finds out that she's pregnant, Rachel's first reaction is to call Santana.

Well, that's not entirely true. First, she drops the two pregnancy tests she has in her hands and watches them land on the plush carpet, the dual positive result cushioned by cheap shag carpeting. She drops to her knees, almost crushing the plastic beneath her, and manages to lift up the toilet lid before retching into the (mercifully) empty bowl. Her fingers shake as they wind through her thick brown hair, and she can feel the tears rolling down her face and listens to them as they drip into the sick filled toilet.

After that, she curls up on her king-sized bed and pulls Fiyero into her arms. The small French bulldog blinks up at her with impossibly large and warm eyes, and she's sobbing as she pulls out her phone and dials Santana's number. It goes straight to voicemail, which happens rarely, and she leaves a gasping and incoherent voicemail on her friend's phone. Somehow, she manages to convey the message that she's pregnant, even if it does take her five minutes to do so. Then, she calls her director and woefully informs him that she needs to take a personal day tomorrow, if he doesn't mind.

Her incredible work ethic has given her a sense of camaraderie with the middle-aged man, and he just tells her that it's not a problem, and he hopes she feels better soon.

Her dog gives a strangled little squeak when she pulls him even harder into her chest, and she feels his soft little tongue dart out and lick at her salty cheek before he nuzzles against her. Eventually, her cries taper off and his quick breaths slow and deepen as he drifts into a nap. Rachel clutches Fiyero to her like a lifeline as she falls into a fitful slumber.

Her last complete thought before sleep is that she never thought this would happen to her.

OOOOO

His name was David Kingsley, and they had met at one of the after parties for her first Broadway show. She had just been a member of the chorus, but the thrill of being a professional on the Great White Way was one that she couldn't resist. She had been sitting by the bar demurely sipping at a club soda with lemon, when he'd approached her with a smile. He had been suave, all dark hair and blue eyes, with a charming smile that she should have known would bring her trouble.

They had spent the evening chatting and laughing and discussing the nuances of the actress (an understudy) who had played Elphaba in that night's showing of 'Wicked.' David had been blown out of the water by the woman's voice, but Rachel had noticed more than one occasion where her nearly operatic singing had gone a little flat despite months and months of training. Rachel Berry would have done a much better job, and wasted no time in letting this handsome stranger know it.

Somehow, between cocktails and taxis and stumbling up stairwells, he managed to lift her dress up over her head, press her down onto the large mattress in her bedroom, and slip inside her before she even knew what was happening. Maybe it had been the alcohol he had been buying for her, or maybe it was the heady rush of desire she was feeling (it had been _months_ since the last time she had done this) but either way her mind was fogged over. She had been so caught up in feeling and moaning and letting go that it hadn't been until the next morning as they said their good-byes that she realized they hadn't used protection.

She hadn't worried, though. She had been on the pill ever since the week she had dated Noah. Her fathers had heard about his reputation by word of mouth and the day after he showed up at their front door, she had found herself in a gynecologist's office, a surly looking father on either side of her.

So, any thoughts of potential pregnancies had slid right off of her shoulders as she looked down at the business card he had pressed into her palm, his cell phone number glinting up at her from the glossy little rectangle.

Things continued on in that way for almost a year, and it had all seemed like a New York fairytale for Rachel. Things, she remembered thinking happily, couldn't have gotten any better.

She had been right. They had only gotten worse.

The director had pulled her aside one day after rehearsal and explained to her in hushed tones that the understudy with the flat voice was being let go due to an ever-increasing dependency on drugs, and Rachel would be taking her spot. It had been a veritable dream come true, and her first impulse had been to call David's cell phone.

Her fingers had been trembling in excitement when she tapped his number against the keys, and the grin had felt almost painful when she pressed her phone against her ear. The giddy feeling that had been all consuming waned a little when a woman had picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

Rachel paused, confusion dimming the smile on her face. "Oh, I'm sorry, I must have the wrong number. I was trying to call David Kingsley-"

"Oh," the woman said, giving a friendly laugh. "Oh, I'm sorry, David's at our son Leon's soccer game. He must have left his phone at home. I'm his wife, Susan. I can take a message if you'd like?"

The warmth dropped out of Rachel's body completely and she dimly recalled telling her lover's wife that no, she didn't have a message to leave, but thank you for your time – sorry for the inconvenience.

_Married._ How could he be married?

Numbly, she had wandered the streets of New York until she reached her apartment. Drudging up the stairs, she felt oddly disconnected when she saw his tall frame leaning against her door, blue eyes looking distressed. She had stood in front of her door without a word, and slid her key into the lock. She had stepped into her apartment, ready to shut the door in his face, when his large hand had slapped against the wood. Rachel peered up at him through thick lashes and dark curls, and had noticed with vague disinterest the determination and _anger_ that were pouring out of the eyes she had grown so close to loving.

"My wife can't know about us," he had growled at her, leaning closer and closer. "I won't lose her because of you. Don't call me again. For anything."

And that had been the end of it. At least, until two months later when she was reading an article in Cosmopolitan about the dangers of mixing medications and realized, with a start and sinking gut, that she had been taking St. John's Wort the last few weeks of her and David's love affair.

A flurry of panic, pharmacies, and purchased pregnancy tests later, and she finds herself curled up on the bed, a small snorting dog her only companion.

Half asleep, she dimly notices that the pounding she hears isn't coming from the headache pulsing against her temples. It isn't until she hears Santana shout her name that she realizes she's no longer as alone as she had feared. Rachel throws the covers off of her body, startling Fiyero awake with the jarring movements. She makes her way to the main room of the apartment and throws open the door, revealing the impatient form of Santana Lopez as she stands in the beige hallway. "About fucking time," she huffs.

The familiarity is too much for her, and Rachel breaks into fresh tears as she falls into her friend's arms.

Two hours later, they're lying side by side on her bed, Rachel's cheek pressed against Santana's chest. Her eyes are swollen and red from crying, and there are more tissues littered across the bed than she knew she even could fit into a box of Kleenex. By now, she has told her friend the whole sordid tale – Santana had known the basics; Rachel had been seeing a tall, handsome fellow, then Rachel had broken up with the tall, handsome fellow. Nothing more and nothing less. Despite how hard she tried to get the chick to talk dirty with her, Rachel had always remained fairly tight-lipped when it came to her romances.

"Fucking _asshole_!" she swears violently, arms tightening convulsively around her best friend. "Seriously. I'll castrate the bitch for you. I will drive to the fucker's house and rip his balls off with my bare hands." She launches into a fit of Spanish, no doubt spouting off more of the same threats, and it helps Rachel a little to know she has a friend that would even _think_ of doing those things for her.

The violence eventually thins out to the occasional enraged murmur, until Santana voices the one question that Rachel had been contemplating internally ever since she peed on that damn stick. "So, are you like…gonna keep it, or what?"

She doesn't answer right away, thinking about all the possibilities. If she keeps the baby, she'll lose her spot as Elphaba's understudy within a few months, as well as any shot she would have had at becoming the lead herself. She'll probably have to move back to Lima, she realizes in a panic, since the cost of going through a pregnancy in New York and living as she does now would be too much on an understudy's salary.

If she gets rid of the baby…

_No._

The reaction is immediate, and she can feel her stomach turning over on itself at the thought. It may not have been the way she wanted it all to happen, and she may never see her child's father again, but she saw the heartache that Noah and Quinn went through after giving up their daughter. Somehow, in the seven hours since she has found out about her pregnancy, she's become attached to the small life growing inside of her. She can't even begin to fathom giving it away – whether to an adoptive family, or cold surgical tools.

"Yeah," Rachel whispers, and feels one last tear roll down her nose and soak into Santana's top. "I think I am."

Neither of them says anything for a while, until Santana breaks the silence. "I'm gonna be the best fucking godmother any baby's ever had," she says decisively. "Your kid's gonna be the shit, and it'll all be because of me."

Despite herself, Rachel giggles. The pain in her chest is eased somewhat.

She and Santana spend the weekend solely with each other, going shopping and eating in nice restaurants and watching old movies on Rachel's modestly sized flat screen television. Eventually, real life intervenes and they must continue on with their days as they did before. With a fierce hug, Santana tells her that she "better call me if you need anything, you pregnant hussy" before making her way to meet her cab.

Rachel shuts the door and leans against it, sliding down until her bottom hits the floor. Santana's presence had been good as a distraction, but without the foul-mouthed Latina to occupy the apartment with her, she's left alone with her thoughts. Slumping to the side until she's laying on the ground, Rachel closes her eyes and presses a hand against her still flat abdomen. She breathes in and out slowly, feeling her heartbeat thrumming through her body and against her palm. She thinks about the small, barely formed life inside of her and imagines that the heartbeat she feels belongs to her baby.

The tears snake sideways down her face and pool into her hair.

OOOOO

When she tells her director, Geoffrey, about the pregnancy, it's only after a hysterical crying fit in his office, followed by him shoving a steaming mug of lemon tea into her hands. She sits in one of the chairs next to his desk and stares miserably at a picture of him and his partner, Luca. They look so happy in the photo, proudly holding onto one another and grinning at the camera.

"How could this happen?" Geoffrey asks her, rubbing his eyes behind his thick rimmed glasses. "Obviously I know _how_, physically, but…how could you let this happen?"

"I didn't mean to," she whispers, settling the mug down on a coaster. "I don't believe in taking over the counter drugs – other than birth control, of course – so whenever I have a stomach ache I take St. John's Wort. I didn't know it would cancel out the birth control."

Geoffrey sighs and tents his fingers, elbows planted firmly on his armrests. "What do you want to do?"

Rachel straightens her shoulders at the question, and turns red rimmed eyes to her boss and friend. "I'd like to stay on for two more months," she says firmly. "And then I'm going to go home. To Lima."

He balks at her. "But you've worked so hard to get where you are!" he cries out. "You're one of the youngest understudies on Broadway!"

She shuts her eyes and lets another tear escape. "I know," she whispers, broken. "I'm only twenty-three, Geoff. How am I supposed to handle rent, and a baby, and a Broadway career? I'm driven, and I have goals, but not even I can afford to raise a child when I spend most of my day out of the apartment. Not emotionally or mentally, anyway." She lays her hands down on his desk and stares at her knuckles. "It's just something that I need to do."

Geoff reaches across the desk and lays a hand on top of her own and says nothing. It's a silent show of support, and she nearly cries.

After her meeting with Geoff, he sends her home for the rest of the day, despite all of her protests. As her director, he needs the time to sort through her remaining work schedule and ready an announcement for the rest of the cast. As her friend, he doesn't want to add any stress to her life and cause the baby harm. Despite her irritation at being shooed out of the office, she feels warmth inside her heart at the show of concern.

Rachel flags down a cab outside of the theater and slides inside, savoring the warmth of the heated interior. It's a particularly cold November day, and despite her thick woolen scarf and plush jacket, the chill had already started to seep in during the few minutes she had been outside. She leans forward to the glass partition and asks the driver to take her to her OB/GYN's office, giving him the name of the practice and the street name as directions. He nods and veers into traffic, throwing her back against the seat. Muttering to herself about bad drivers and the virtue of patience, she buckles herself in.

The buildings and cars crawl by her as they drive to Dr. Rosenburg's office, and Rachel is consumed in her own thoughts. She thinks about the baby, about her fallacy of a life with David and of her fathers' reactions when she tells them the news. She thinks about all she's giving up, of life back in Lima, of working so hard to get where she is only to turn back around and go home. She thinks about her daughter or son, and wonders whether or not it will have her nose, his eyes, her mouth, and his laugh.

When they reach the brick building, she shoves a couple of bills into the cabby's hands and exits the car, feeling the chill almost immediately. Shivering, she walks briskly up the steps and almost throws the door open, feeling the plume of hot air fall over her. Happily, she makes her way to the waiting room and settles down into a chair, picking up an old issue of _Glamour_ along the way. In the middle of reading an article about Taylor Swift, her phone vibrates in her pocket.

Rachel fishes around in the pocket and eventually pulls out her Blackberry, and scrolls to the newest message. Since she's expecting the message to be from Santana, she's a little surprised when it's from someone else entirely.

_Whats up lady_

Rachel stares at Noah's text for a few moments, unsure of how to respond to him. The two of them had dated for almost a year in their senior year of high school, breaking up at the end of summer when they had gone their separate ways for college. She had gone to New York and he had somehow pulled up his grades enough to get a scholarship to a school in Maryland. They had been close enough to one another to keep up a long distance relationship, but at eighteen Rachel had known that attempting to do so would have only ruined their relationship for good.

It hadn't been an easy decision – she had been so in love with him back then. She'd never told him, though. She had stubbornly wanted him to be the first to say the words, and he never did. Her utter adoration of Noah Puckerman hadn't been a secret, but she never gave voice to her feelings.

In the first year of college, he had tried to initiate conversations with her through texts or at parties when they were both in Lima, but the ache in her chest whenever she thought of him had been too strong, and so she had all but ignored him. After a summer full of running into one another at grocery stores and shopping malls and parties, she had begun to respond to him whenever he spoke to her. It had been awkward in the beginning, but at this point they had been broken up for so long and his texts were few and far between enough that she had no hesitation in responding.

Now, though, her thumbs hovered over the keypad in uncertainty.

_Not too much, Noah. Just at the Doctor's office. How are you?_

There, she decides, hitting the send button. Innocent enough. She could have been at any doctor's office – she highly doubts that his mind would jump to OB/GYN.

_Drs? U okay? Dont die on me yo_

She chuckles a little, huffing out a laugh as her fingers fly over her cell phone.

_I'm perfectly fine, just a check up. _

Just as she hits send the nurse calls out her name. Rachel stands and follows the woman in the purple scrubs, and feels a sinking feeling in her stomach as Dr. Rosenburg's office looms closer and closer. She thanks her with a smile when the nurse opens the door for her, and settles herself into one of the plastic chairs. Her phone vibrates in her hand and she smiles when she reads Noah's text.

_K good. Itd suck if u wrnt ok_

She sends him a smiley face in response and lets him know that she won't be able to respond for a bit, as her appointment is starting. She won't find out until later whether or not he responds, because she turns her phone off completely as soon as Dr. Rosenburg walks through the office.

"Hello, Rachel," he greets her, peering over his spectacles and dropping a manila folder onto his desk. "What can I do for you today? You seemed quite urgent on the phone yesterday."

Years of theater training has taught her how to school her face, but she can't stop the butterflies from fluttering in her stomach. "I took a pregnancy test a few days ago," she tells him, bluntly. "Well, I took two, actually. And they were both positive. I guess I just wanted confirmation from a professional."

If he's surprised, he doesn't show it, and she's grateful for it. Although, she supposes that in his long career, he's come across far more shocking things than a twenty-three year old getting pregnant. He picks her folder back up and motions for her to follow him out of his office and down the hall. He catches the attention of a nurse along the way, and she follows them into the blood workroom.

"Rachel, I have a patient that I have to tend to," Dr. Rosenburg says, handing her chart off to the nurse. "I'll be with you as soon as Nurse Tibbet here finishes your blood work, and we'll find out whether or not you're pregnant."

As the nurse draws her blood, Rachel makes idle chitchat, looking everywhere but at the vial of blood attached to her arm. Vaguely, she wonders if Noah's messaged her back.

It doesn't feel as if it's too much longer before she's back in Dr. Rosenburg's office, and the man in question walks in, looking harried. "Sorry for the wait," he apologizes to her, despite not having made her wait in the least. "But, we have the results of your blood test."

Rachel knows that her surprise is showing on her face, at least a little bit. "So soon?"

The doctor chuckles and pulls out his reading glasses, and sits down behind his desk. "It doesn't take terribly long, Rachel. Now, onto the big moment." He opens her folder and scans the results, and Rachel watches the way his eyes flicker from side to side as he reads. A nerve-wracking ten seconds passes by before he looks up with a smile and kind brown eyes.

"Congratulations!" is the last thing that she hears before the world grays out around her. It had been one thing to use a home pregnancy test – she had heard stories of false positive results so often, but now that she has a professional's confirmation…it just all seems too overwhelmingly real.

She calls Santana later that night and quietly tells her about the day she's had. For once, the other girl just listens and interjects only when Rachel has gone silent.

"San?"

"Yeah, babe?"

Rachel rubs at her forehead, and listens to the tags on Fiyero's collar jingle as he scratches at an ear. She squeezes her eyes shut in preparation for what she's about to ask. "Would…would you mind coming with me to the first ultrasound?"

Santana scoffs at the question. "Please, bitch, as if I wouldn't have come even if you hadn't asked. Fucking crazy ass chick."

Despite herself, Rachel bursts into laughter.


	2. Chapter Two

**Title: **Anything But Ordinary  
**Rating: **T  
**Pairing: **Rachel/Puck, Rachel/OC, Rachel/Santana (friendship)  
**Disclaimer: **I wish. Really. I wish so much.  
Author's Notes: So, this story isn't going to be too long. When I started writing it, I knew I was only going to make it somewhere between three and five chapters long. I already have the next chapter mostly finished, and I figured a shorter story would be better since I truly don't have the patience or the creativity to make this fic longer than that.

* * *

Santana is clutching her hand with full strength when the ultrasound technician applies the cold gel to Rachel's stomach, and the force of her grip makes Rachel wince. "You'd think you were the one who's pregnant," she grumbles, tugging her hand free and flexing the fingers.

"Shut up," Santana snaps, grabbing her hand back and holding it with more controlled strength. "This kid's gonna be my bastard niece or nephew. Of course I'm fucking nervous. What," she snaps, looking over at the technician, who's given her a dirty look for cursing. "You never heard anyone say 'fuck' before? Fuck fuck fucking fuckity fuck."

"Santana!" Rachel whispers, scandalized.

"She needs to learn."

Rachel flushes, embarrassed, and mouths an apology at the shocked nurse. Luckily, she seems to shake it off and turns on the monitor, mumbling under her breath. Rachel can tell that Santana's about to lose it with the other woman, and squeezes her hand a bit harder in retaliation.

Anything that she might have thought of to say disappears when the wand presses against her stomach, smearing the gel around on her skin. She gasps when she feels the cold, but automatically directs her gaze towards the small screen that's just flickered on.

"Alright," the nurse says, tapping her fingers against the keyboard with one hand and pressing the ultrasound wand gently down on Rachel's stomach with the other. Slowly, a grainy black and white image forms in front of their eyes, and neither Santana nor Rachel can tear their eyes away from it. The nurse raises a finger and points to a small blob on screen. "You see that?" she asks, briefly looking at the two young women. "That little thing right there is your baby's heart."

Rachel feels her throat go dry as she looks at her baby for the first time. There's not much to see, but it's tangible proof that something of her flesh and blood is really there. Something wet touches her hand, and she looks over at Santana, startled. "Are…are you _crying?"_

"No!" Santana blubbers, wiping the water from her cheeks. "I just have something in my eyes. Fuck, Rach. Your baby…"

Rachel turns back towards the monitor. "I know," she whispers, and they squeeze their hands together even more tightly.

The technician prints out three copies of the pictures when Rachel asks her to, and Rachel makes a mental note to send a thank you card as an apology for Santana's behavior. One of the pictures goes up on her fridge, and she gives another to Santana for her to keep. The third is in a drawer in her bedroom, and she thinks that she'll give it to her fathers when she goes home. Before she leaves, Santana buys herself a silver frame and puts the ultrasound picture inside of it, and is rather proud of it all. She promises Rachel that she'll put it in her apartment, and "fuck what other people might think."

Long after Santana has left to go back to Albany, Rachel stands in front of her silver refrigerator, one hand pressed to her stomach and the fingers on the other hand tracing the image of her baby. "I'll take care of you," she whispers fiercely. "I promise."

OOOOO

A few weeks after her friend has come and gone, Rachel is coming out of her bathroom freshly showered when she sees her phone blinking from where it's charging on her nightstand. It had died during rehearsals earlier that morning, and she hadn't had an opportunity to charge it until she got home, and by then the allure of a long hot shower had been too strong to resist.

The conversation with her fathers had gone about as well as she had been expecting, but a part of her had clung to her usual optimism - that same part of her had been let down a little when her fathers had let out a string of expletives and expressed disappoints that she didn't wish to dwell on. They certainly hadn't been happy with the situation, but other than the threats that her father, Nick (the smaller, Jewish one), made towards "that damn coward that got her pregnant," they had been sure to reassure her of their unconditional love. In three weeks, they were going to come to New York and help her move her things back to Lima. She suspects that one of the reasons her Daddy wants to come is to hunt down the married man that got her pregnant.

So, all things considered, she has no idea who could be trying to get in contact with her right now.

Frowning slightly, she picks it up sees that she has seven missed calls and three new texts. All of the calls are from Santana, most from earlier in the day and one from a few minutes ago. Thumb scrolling through the phone's menu, she clicks on the three new messages. The first two are from Santana, and the time stamp lets Rachel know that they were probably sent only minutes after her phone had flickered and died earlier.

__

Answer your fucking phone. For real. Might have fucked up. –S

Bitch, ANSWER YOUR PHONE. Fuck. Puck was here 4 the weekend visiting, saw the pic. Knows your deal, on his way to NYC. Sorry. –S

Rachel groans, thumb hovering nervously over the most recent message, dated only from ten minutes before. The name 'Noah' stares up at her in block letters, almost daring her not to read what he has to say. Biting down on her full lower lip, she opts to read his text.

__

Come to your damn door and let me in.

Her breath hitches in her chest and she tosses her phone down onto the bed, unsure of what to do. She knows for a fact that the only time Noah ever uses proper spelling in his text messages is when he's especially angry. Getting dressed is obviously on the top of her list, but after that, she has no plan. Somehow, when it comes to Noah Puckerman, he always finds a way to catch her completely off guard.

She hastily throws on a sweatshirt and a pair of yoga pants before darting around her room and collecting the odd pieces of spare clothing that are scattered across the floor. Fiyero watches her from his perch upon her bed, eyes flickering around in mild disinterest. His ears perk when he hears the loud banging on the front door, and his little throat rumbles in a growl that's about as menacing as he can manage.

Rachel smoothes down her hair and pads over to the door, undoing the different locks and trying her hardest to settle her frayed nerves. She's barely gotten the door open before Noah's pushing against it, stretching one long arm out to open up the doorway completely. He levels here with an uncharacteristically serious look, and says three words that simultaneously deflate her and set her on edge.

"Is it true?"

She doesn't know what to say. He's just standing there, every bit as gorgeous as the last time she saw him, and his dark green eyes are so concerned it almost _hurts_ to give him the answer.

"Yes," she whispers, averting her gaze.

Noah's jaw clenches in her peripheral, and she squeezes her eyes shut when he turns around and moves away from her door. Rachel's certain he's left until she hears the sickening crack of fist meeting drywall. Inhaling sharply, she opens her eyes and gazes, startled, at the sight of Noah with his arm buried up to his wrist in the wall. Fiyero, who's followed her out to the door, yelps at the loud noise and scrambles back towards Rachel's bedroom, tiny claws clattering against the floor. Noah withdraws his fist from where it's embedded in the dry wall, shaking off dust and blood and bits of wall, and turns to face her once more.

"And he just fucking _left you_?" he demands, wincing as he flexes his bruised and bloody fingers.

She shrugs, reaching forward and pulling him into her apartment. "He's married," she says softly, pushing the door shut behind the two of them. "And we broke up before I knew about the baby."

"Well _that's_ not a real fucking reason," he grumbles, and she doesn't know what he means by it, so she stays silent. She pulls an ice pack out of her freezer and wraps it up in a tea cloth and hands it to Noah, who holds it against his injured hand.

She can feel his eyes on her and blushes, busying herself around the kitchen. "Still got that sweatshirt, huh?"

She turns around at the question, a jug of orange juice in one hand and a glass in the other. "Sorry?"

He gestures towards her with a nod of the head, eyes trained on her torso. "My sweatshirt. You still got it."

She glances down at the McKinley High hoody, seeing an upside down 20 emblazoned on her chest. "I still _have_ it, yes," Rachel says, correcting his grammar only because she knows how much it irritates him. "It's comfortable."

He stares at her with those dark green eyes and she's unable to read his expression. She doesn't even have any idea what he's thinking until he finally speaks. "I fucking hated that prick from the second I met him."

Rachel looks at him, slightly startled. "You never told me that."

"Only fucking met him twice, didn't I? And every time I saw you, he was there. Couldn't fucking find a second alone, could I?"

Rachel knows this to be true. Noah had visited her twice in a six month period on his way to Albany to visit Santana (the two of them, having long since given up any sexual relationship, are the best of friends) and both times had encountered David. She had just assumed that his frosty attitude towards David had been the result of her ex-boyfriend meeting her current boyfriend, but from the look in Noah's eyes right now, she knows it goes even deeper than that.

She doesn't know what to say to him, but he doesn't seem to expect her to say anything at all. Instead, he moves slowly towards her fridge, and stares at the ultrasound photo that's held up by a magnet. Rachel holds her arms around herself, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of Noah Puckerman standing in her kitchen. Tossing his ice pack to the side, he pulls the picture down and runs two long fingers across the glossy paper.

He says nothing, and she says nothing. Eventually, his throat bobs in a hard swallow and when he speaks, his voice is slightly hoarse. "I never got to go to Quinn's," he murmurs. "Never wanted me there."

"Santana came to mine," Rachel offers. "She was the only one who knew at the time, so I asked her to come."

The photo trembles in his fingers, and he licks his lips. "Can I…" The question dies on his lips, but she can see the way that he's looking so reverently at the picture of her baby.

"You can keep it," she affirms with a nod, and moves closer to him. "I have another. This one can be all yours."

The picture is tucked carefully into his wallet, taking up one of the clear slots. She likes knowing that every time he opens it up, he'll have a reminder of her right in front of him.

She gets a cup of ice water for him and a glass of orange juice for herself, and crosses over to her couch. He follows her, still in a bit of a daze. She pulls out two coasters and sets the drinks down on top of them. Noah sinks into the cushions of her coach and shuts his eyes, draping the forearm attached to his injured hand over his eyes. He doesn't say anything, nor does he seem to intend to speak, so she talks for the both of them.

She tells him about her break up with David, of the metaphorical slap in the face he gave her when he dropped the bombshell of his marriage. She talks about finding out she was pregnant and her grand mistake of mixing birth control with St. John's Wort, and about the meltdown she had gone through when the pregnancy tests had turned up positive. She talks about her plans for the remainder of her time in New York, of her run as Elphaba's understudy, and her plan to move back to Lima.

When she runs out of things to say, she says nothing at all. Fiyero finally waddles out of the room and presses his front two paws against her knees, and she picks him up and holds him in her lap. He stares at Noah with two large, inquisitive eyes until the man moves his arm from his face and looks at Rachel with an indeterminate expression. "You comin' back to Lima?" he grunts.

She nods.

He seems to take that into consideration, before tightening his jaw. "I'm gonna help you," he tells her firmly.

Rachel gapes at him in disbelief. "Excuse me?" She sets Fiyero down on the cushion next to her and stands abruptly, anger charging through her veins. "I will not be some kind of charity case, Puckerman! I'm pregnant, not an invalid!" She picks up his untouched glass of ice water and takes it into the kitchen, throwing its contents into the sink. "I don't need your pity," she tells him, tears biting at her eyelids.

She doesn't even realize that he's next to her until he wraps his arms around her from behind. She struggles a little in his arms before slumping forward, his arms the only things holding her up as she cries. He turns her in his embrace and winds his unhurt hand into her hair, pressing her face into the crook of his neck. "It's not pity or charity," he says gruffly, holding onto her a little bit tighter. "I fucking wanna do this, Rach. I hate that that fucking…douche bag for screwing you over so bad. I hate that San's the only one there for you. I wanna be there for you."

It's probably the most honest thing he's ever said to anyone, and he's glad that he doesn't have to look her in the face while he says it. It's been five years since they broke up, and a part of him hasn't really ever gotten over it. When he first went away to college, he was practically celibate for the first two months. When he had finally started sleeping with other girls, he made sure that they looked nothing at all like Rachel. He'd never dated a girl for as long as him and Rachel had been together and still hasn't since.

He'd been an emotionally stunted asshole when he was a teenager, and while he hadn't ever been in love before, he was pretty sure that's what he'd had with Rachel. She sure as hell seemed to be in love with him…at least, that's what everyone had told him. She'd never said the words to him, though, and he'd be damned if he was gonna say the words first. He almost had, a bunch of times, but he'd always think about what would happen if she didn't say it back.

He had too much of an ego to risk that.

When Santana had told him that Rachel was dating some older businessman douche, he'd thrown a beer bottle at the wall. It had always been hard for him to hear about her dating life after him, and the fact that she had dated him for so long had only prolonged the agony. When he'd finally met the prick, he'd been totally underwhelmed. Douche was _boring_, not to mention shady as fuck.

When he'd flown from Lima to Albany to visit Santana, and seen the small ultrasound photo hanging by the front door, he'd nearly lost his shit. He'd ranted and raved about how he thought she was too fucking smart to get pregnant, and he'd kill the bastard who'd done it to her. She'd interrupted him mid-rave, and her words had made his blood run cold.

"Dude, chill the fuck out. S'not mine. It's R-" She'd clapped a hand over her mouth, suddenly realizing that she'd divulged more than she'd ever meant to.

His shoulders had tightened and his eyes had gone flat when he'd turned to face her. "Whose?" he demanded.

"I can't-"

"Whose!"

The minute her name had fallen from Santana's list, he'd gone utterly silent, and left the apartment without another word. Everything had been a red haze up until the second Rachel had opened up her front door.

Now, with his girl finally back in his arms, but pregnant with another man's child, he can't even begin to name all of the emotions rushing through his brain. "I'm gonna there for you and this kid," he promises against her hair. "I'm gonna be there, the way my dad wasn't, the way I wasn't for Quinn, and the way this fucker won't be for you."

Her arms squeeze their way around his neck, and her small frame shakes with the force of her tears. They stand there, embracing, until their legs give out and they lay down on the kitchen floor, holding onto one another as the world fell down around them.

OOOOO

Before she moves back to Lima in January, Dr. Rosenburg asks her to schedule one more appointment with him, in case finding an OB/GYN back home takes her a while. She schedules one for the day before she leaves, which allows her fathers to come along with her to see their grandchild for the first time.

She's only anticipating the two of them, so it's a bit of a surprise when Noah turns up on her doorstep. "Hi?" she says, stupidly.

"Sup," he nods, jutting his chin out towards her. "Your dads are parking the U-Haul they rented."

"You…came with them?"

He rolls his eyes at her and steps into her apartment, surveying the piles and piles of boxes in the main room. His brows furrow at her. "Tell me you didn't fuckin' move these on your own."

Rachel crosses her arms and scowls at him. "Of course not," she snaps, turning her nose up into the air a bit. "I'm not a fool, Puck. I do have guy friends in the theater. They helped me. I know from all of the pregnancy books I've been reading that I shouldn't participate in any strenuous or heavy lifting."

Whatever response is curled on the tip of his tongue is lost when her fathers, Nick and Eugene, flood the doorway. Nick rushes forward and envelopes Rachel into his arms, pressing adoring kisses to his daughter's face. Eugene strides forward and waits for his turn, and when Nick is done showering Rachel with affection, her other father silently hauls her up into his arms, leaving her feet to dangle almost a foot off of the floor. Fiyero barks happily at the lot of them, his stumpy tail wiggling around in excitement.

Noah busies himself while Rachel reunites with her fathers, gazing around the room in an attempt to look busy. He's never been totally big on the public displays of affection, and watching her fathers coo over her and the now visible bump underneath her sweater makes his stomach turn over in an entirely unpleasant way.

He's still not totally cool with the idea of her being pregnant with another guy's baby. Or any guy's baby. Except maybe his. Fuck. He'd been so pissed off when he'd found the picture in Santana's house and assumed it was her kid, but that'd been nothing to the silent, white-hot rage he'd felt when he'd found out he was looking at Rachel's baby.

Just thinking about it now, he feels like he might throw up. He still cares a lot about this tiny girl, and the urge to protect her from the assholes of the world has only increased now that she's got two people to take care of. He just wants to…be there for her.

He thinks about all of this as he carries a particularly heavy box down the stairs and out to the U-Haul, keeping his gaze riveted on the stairs underneath his feet. The last fucking thing he needs is a broken neck. It isn't until he shoves the box fully inside the trailer that he notices a man in a black trench coat standing by the steps of Rachel's building, gazing up at her window with impatient eyes. The stranger's face turns so that Noah can see his profile, and the old familiar rage boils up inside of him again.

"Motherfucker," he breathes, striding forward with a hand outstretched. He grips David's shoulder and forcibly turns him, "The fuck are you doing here?"

David looks down at Noah's hand with a sneer and then looks back up. "I was in the neighborhood," he says shortly. "I thought I would see how Rachel is doing."

Noah shoves him, hard, and notices out of the corner of his eye as Rachel and her fathers stop in their steps just outside the building's door. "You can go fuck yourself," he growls, moving until he's standing eye to eye with the object of his irritation. "She doesn't need you anymore, and she sure as hell doesn't wanna see you."

David raises an eyebrow, not backing down from the threat that the younger man is posing. "I think I'll let Rachel decide." The words are barely out of his mouth before Rachel is standing to the side of them both, and taps David on the shoulder. He turns to face her, and barely has time to react as her fist cocks back and flies into his nose. Puck winces at the sickening cracks that come from the douchebag's face and Rachel's hand when impact is made, but he's so damn proud of his girl that it's ridiculous. Eugene and Nick gape at her, and Fiyero scrabbles at Eugene's arms, growling loudly at the man he views as a threat to his human.

"Go to hell," Rachel hisses, tears glimmering in her eyes. She turns, hair flying out behind her, and marches haughtily towards the truck. Despite the dozens of boxes still in her apartment, she pulls herself into the cab of the U-Haul and shuts the door with a loud bang.

"Fucking bitch," David mutters, holding his nose in an attempt to stem the flow of blood. The red liquid drips through the cracks of his fingers and discolors the gold band on his left hand.

Noah's rage slams into him all at once, and for a brief moment in time he's Puck again – impulsive as hell and prone to violence. He throws his own fist into the other man's face, feeling a cheekbone break against his hand. David howls in agony, and begins yelling threats at Noah, telling him he's going to call his attorney and sue the hell out of him.

"Yeah?" Noah snarls, shaking his hand out. _Fuck_ but he'd forgotten how badly it hurt to punch someone. "I guess I'll just call your wife and tell her you were fucking another girl for a year."

The threat is enough to make David blanch, and all his exclamations die down to irritated mumbles, and he turns tail and strides down the street and to his town car. Blood spatters across the pavement as he walks, and Noah stares at the bright red spots with a sense of immense satisfaction.

Carrying the rest of Rachel's boxes from her apartment absolutely kills his hand, but the smirk doesn't leave his face. It was so fucking worth it.


	3. Chapter Three

**Title: **Anything But Ordinary  
**Rating: **T  
**Pairing: **Rachel/Puck, Rachel/OC, Rachel/Santana (friendship)  
**Disclaimer: **I wish. Really. I wish so much.  
**Author's Notes: **I'm sorry for the delay with this chapter! I just started back up in college this week, and it's been a swarm of homework and sleeping whenever I can. Thank you so, so much to everyone who's reviewed this story! It just popped into my head one day while I was driving, and I never imagined that it would turn into what it has. Thank you so much for everything you guys have been saying. After this, I think there's only one chapter left. Maybe two, max.

Enjoy!  
x Caroline

* * *

Noah's leg won't stop shaking when they're sitting in the waiting room at Dr. Rosenburg's office, and it's all Rachel can do not to just reach out and press her hand down on his knee, just to make him stop. Her dads are sitting on her other side, murmuring quietly to one another as they read a magazine together.

"Noah," she hisses, and his gaze darts around the room before finally landing on her. "Stop it."

He scowls and lifts his leg, dragging his ankle over his knee and holding onto his denim covered calf firmly. He doesn't know why, but he's fucking _nervous._ It's not even his kid, but he's acting like the nervous father. Hell, he didn't even know about the baby until a couple weeks ago, and the only time he's seen it is under Rachel's shirt and in a blurry photo in his wallet. He's just fuckin' nervous to see this kid moving around and shit. He never really got this with Quinn – she never wanted him around for her ultrasounds, taking Mercedes with her instead. Fuck _that_ shit, by the way.

He promised to be there for Rachel, anyway, and even if he feels like he's gonna puke in the meantime, he's gonna stick this out for her.

The nurse calls her name soon enough, and Rachel stands up with her three men and wanders through the hallways towards the familiar room, feeling more than seeing the presence of the others behind her. She gives a friendly smile to Margot, the technician that Santana had traumatized during Rachel's first ultrasound, and crosses over to the examination table, hopping up and toeing off her shoes. She reclines back and pulls her sweater up over the swell of her stomach, noticing the way that Noah averts his eyes when she does.

Rachel pillows her head with one of her arms and makes idle conversation with her fathers until Margot has booted up the monitor and pulled on rubber gloves. She winces when the cold gel makes contact with her skin and can't help but shiver. A warmth slides over her left hand and she looks down at it, surprised to see Noah's much larger hand encasing her own. His eyes are fixed on the monitor, but Rachel can't tear her eyes away from him.

She watches the way his eyes widen when the images flicker to life on the screen, and the contents of her uterus are on display. She sees the way his jaw drops slightly when Margot finally zeroes in on the fetus, verbally detailing to all four people in the room just what they're seeing.

Noah's face is so full of wonder, fear, and astonishment that it takes Rachel's breath away. There, in the dim lighting and flickering screen, she's reminded of the boy she used to love.

OOOOO

The ten hour drive exhausts every single person involved, and it's with tired legs that Noah carries the last box of Rachel's things into the Berry's garage. He sets it down with a loud thud (it's labeled 'throw pillows' so he doesn't exactly give a shit about being gentle) and then rubs harshly at his eyes, groaning a bit at how completely wiped out he is.

"My dads say you're welcome to stay the night." Rachel's voice comes from behind him and he turns around, looking at her through bleary eyes. "I was just wondering if you wanted to watch a movie in my room first."

His brain can't formulate proper sentences, so he just gives her a one shouldered shrug and a nod, and follows her out of the garage and into the house. It's been a while since he was in the Berry's home, and not much has changed since then. Pictures of Rachel are more recent, and the picture of the baby is clipped to the fridge. There's a new plush looking recliner situated in the corner of the living room and the temptation to go lounge in it is almost too great.

In a haze of sleep, Noah stumbles up the stairs, gripping the banister with all his might. Rachel giggles at his sleep antics and extends a small hand towards him, which he takes gratefully. She tugs him along up the stairs and into her bedroom, where he stands for a few moments, too tired to even make his way to the bed. There's a big flat screen tv to his left that most definitely wasn't there when they were dating (otherwise, he definitely would have brought his Xbox over every time), and a few of her more girly items were missing – no more stuffed animals, no more posters declaring her ambitions, and no more ribbons strung around her mirror.

She pulls out a stack of DVDs from a drawer beneath the large television, and hands them to him. "You can pick the movie," she offers, then crouches to go digging through her other drawers. She pulls out a sweatshirt and a pair of shorts and holds them against her chest. "I'm going to go change in the bathroom quickly. I think I still have a pair of your basketball shorts here, if you want to change out of your jeans."

He grunts at her, shuffling the DVD packages in his hands without really reading the titles. She gives him a small smile and crosses over to her en suite bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Somehow, he pulls out enough brainpower to read the movie titles, and finally settles on 'The Hangover.' It's the only non-musical that she's handed him, and as tired as he is, he's not watching 'The Sound of Music' one. More. God damned time. He got enough of that shit senior year.

The bathroom door opens up and he looks over at Rachel, and can't help but notice how gorgeous she is even in the most casual of clothing. She gives him a smile and hops up onto her large bed, tucking her feet under the covers and pulling them up to her waist. She pats the empty space of the bed next to her, inviting him to lie down beside her.

He puts the DVD in the player and turns on the TV, grabs the two controllers and finally shuffles over to the bed. He flops down onto it, face smushing against the pillow. He groans into the feathers, and feels more than hears Rachel give a soft giggle. Fiyero's ears perk up and he peers at them, extending his neck out from where he's lying on a plush dog bed. Noah turns over, eyes shut, and burrows his face into the warmth of her sweatshirt-clad body. "You're fuckin' warm," he mutters.

"Watch the movie," she says, a bit breathlessly.

He tries. Noah really tries to watch the movie, and he feels kind of bad since it was, you know, his choice in movie, but he falls asleep before the opening credits have even finished. Rachel smiles to herself as the soft sound of his snoring fills her room, and her hand runs over his hair. She doesn't know quite when he decided to stop growing out the mohawk, but she really likes the way he's kept it more closely shorn to his head.

In the middle of the movie, he turns in his sleep and throws an arm around her waist, tucking his hand underneath her butt. The glimmering light of the TV illuminates her smile.

OOOOO

A few weeks go by, and suddenly Rachel wakes up looking and feeling like she's nine months pregnant. It's ridiculous, because it's only the middle of February and she still has three months to go until her baby is due. She studies her figure in the mirror, examining the protruding stomach with interest. She's always been fond of her svelte and toned figure, and it's most definitely gone down the drain with pregnancy.

The smell of bacon (kosher, of course) wafts up to her, and her mouth nearly waters. Yeah, that whole 'vegan' thing hadn't lasted very long into her first trimester when she had begun to desperately crave BBQ wings at three am every morning. The first couple of times that she had eaten meat, she had felt so desperately ill that she vowed not to eat any again. And then, every night, her stomach would grumble loudly with the same cravings. Eventually her body had adjusted, and now she had no problems eating meat. Which she does…frequently.

She waddles (waddles!) downstairs, holding tightly onto the banister with every step she takes. She's taken to watching hospital shows late at night when she's having trouble sleeping, and all the medical maladies have only served to make her more paranoid than ever when it comes to her health during this pregnancy.

Rachel wanders into the kitchen, pressing a hand to her lower back and smiling at her fathers. "Good morning," she says brightly.

"Good morning, sweetheart," Eugene says, frying pan in one hand and tongs held in the other. She can see the steam wafting from the bacon that he's cooking, and her stomach rumbles at the sight of it. Forlorn, she stares at the food before crossing to the kitchen table and taking a seat next to Nick.

Her father rubs her back with his hand and smiles at her. "Are you excited for today?" he asks her, sounding thrilled himself. Rachel can't help but smile at his enthusiasm.

"Nervous, actually," she admits, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I can't believe I let Santana talk me into this."

"How did she manage that, exactly?" Eugene asks, placing the frying pan down on the stove and turning to face his husband and daughter, planting his free hand on his hip.

"Oh, you know," Rachel says, waving a hand in the air. "She was…_Santana._"

"She bullied you until she got her way?"

"Basically," Rachel admits with a laugh, smiling happily at the thought of her best friend. "She should be here any minute," she adds, glancing towards the clock.

When Santana had finally convinced Rachel to find out the sex of the baby, she had vowed then and there to be in Lima for the ultrasound no matter what. Rachel had offered to drive to the airport to pick her off, but Santana, who insisted that her father could spring for a cab ride for his little girl, had waved off the offer. He was so thoroughly wrapped around his daughter's finger that Rachel felt sorry for him sometimes, but she couldn't deny the overwhelming amount of love that the Lopez family had for each other.

There's a loud series of bangs at the front door that are followed by Fiyero scuttling down the stairs and barking at the door with all his might, and Eugene wipes his hand off on a dishtowel and moves down the hallway. When he reaches the door, he swoops down and grasps the small French bulldog in one large hand, and he unlocks the front door and is soon faced with the spitfire that is Santana Lopez.

"Hey Mr. B," she says, giving him a casual nod. "S'up?"

"Hello Santana," he greets her, waving her into the house. "Rachel's in the kitchen, awaiting your arrival."

She gives him a brief thank you and moves into the hallway, pausing briefly to scratch the black and white dog under the chin. "What up, pooch?" she murmurs, and Fiyero's butt wiggles in happiness.

Just as Eugene's about to shut the door, a familiar black truck rumbles down the street and comes to a halt in front of the house. He recognizes Noah in the front seat and waves at him. Fiyero suddenly begins squirming as much as possible, forcing Eugene to put him on the ground. The little dog goes running towards the pick up truck, yapping happily as Noah steps out of the cab. Fiyero begins running in circles around Noah's legs as he walks towards the house, and Eugene bursts into laughter at the sight of it.

"It seems like he's really taken to you," he calls out to Noah, who grunts in response. The dog follows him even as he steps into the house and moves down the hallway, and he can hear the grumbled and affectionate, "Damn dog."

Noah twirls his keys around his fingers when he steps into the kitchen. Santana and Rachel are seated at the table while Nick does the dishes, and Rachel looks up at him with a smile. "You made it!" she says happily, and stands up from the table.

"Whoa," he says, holding up both hands and staring at her belly. "It's been like…three weeks since I last saw you. Why are you so pregnant?"

Her eyes widen and almost immediately he spots the glimmer of tears. Santana scowls at him and stands, wrapping her arms around Rachel. "Try and be more sensitive, you jackass," she snaps at him.

He furrows his brow. "Why? S'not like I said she's fat, she's just pregnant." He gestures towards her with one broad sweep of the arm. "She looks hot for a pregnant chick."

Suddenly, Rachel's mercurial mood shifts and she's beaming at him. "That's so sweet!" she cries, and shuffles forward to give Noah a hug. He gently wraps his arms around her in return, and sends a confused look over her head at Santana. 'The fuck…?' he mouths at her, and Santana just mutters, "Hormones."

If Rachel weren't holding onto him so hard, he wouldn't gotten out of there right the fuck then. He can barely deal with chicks and their emotions when they aren't all PMS-y, and from what he went through with Quinn, pregnancy hormones are approximately a billion times worse than that. But with Rachel snuggled against his chest so nicely and the smell of her hair wafting into his nose, he can't find it within himself to pull himself away from her. Santana just rolls her eyes at the two of them and pulls her purse back up over her shoulder.

"So, we leaving? It's like, nine thirty."

"What?" Rachel shrieks, and pulls back from Noah almost immediately. Her hands flutter to her face as she stares at Santana in horror. "The appointment's at ten! I look awful!"

Noah tries his hardest not to laugh when she abruptly turns and does her best to hurry out of the room. The result is a weird, shuffling waddle, and he sees Santana smirking out of the corner of his eye. As soon as they're sure Rachel's out of earshot, he leans forward and mutters, "She's _so pregnant_."

He hears Nick give out a laugh from the sink, and Santana chuckles. "Uh, yeah, asshole. We know. She's still got three months left to grow that thing, stop telling her how big she is already."

The thing is, she's really not even that big. Rachel's fucking tiny – always has been. She's almost a foot shorter than he is, and she's always felt like she barely weighed anything whenever he'd picked her up. Her usually taut stomach has been expanding naturally with the baby's growth, and until now it's just look like she had gained a bit of weight, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Then, she'd begun hiding under baggy sweaters and t-shirts, so when he walked into her kitchen and she was sitting at the table in a tight fitting long sleeved v-neck and some leggings….yeah. She's fucking _pregnant._

OOOOO

He's in shock. That's the only explanation that Rachel can come up with as she turns in the passenger seat and stares worriedly at Noah. Santana's driving them home from the doctor, and Noah hasn't said a word since they were sitting in the waiting room. Even Santana seems worried about the way he's acting, since she's glancing back at him in the rear view mirror every now and then. She kills the engine in front of Rachel's house and raises an eyebrow at the other girl.

"You go ahead inside," Rachel murmurs. "I'll stay in here with him for a little while."

Santana shrugs and pulls the keys out of the ignition, gets out of the car and heads towards the warmth of the Berry house.

Rachel doesn't say anything for a few minutes. Then, "Noah."

He doesn't answer. His eyes are fixed permanently on what's in his hands.

"Noah!"

"Huh?" He starts, looking up at her with glazed green eyes. "What? Yeah, sorry. What?"

She furrows her brow at him and turns as much as she possibly can in the car seat. "Are you okay?"

He licks his lips and his eyes flicker back down to the photograph in his hands. Noah opens up his mouth as though he's about to speak, but the words die on his tongue with a small croak. Rachel bites her lip as she watches him, feeling tears prick at her eyes.

"Do you ever think about it?" he finally says, quietly.

"Do I ever think about, what?" she whispers.

"Us." His voice is so small when he says it, that she almost doesn't hear him. She's never heard him talk like this before and it scares her a little bit. "Fuck, Rach. I think about it all the fucking time."

Rachel swallows her tears and nearly chokes on them. "I do, too," she confesses, brokenly.

He looks back up at her, finally, and his eyes are glassy with unshed tears. In all the years that she's known him, even the time he fell out of a tree and broke his arm in three different places, she hasn't ever seen him cry. Noah's having trouble forming the words he wants to say, and she can feel her heart breaking.

He can't say what he's thinking. So he doesn't say anything at all.

Instead, he sits in the back of Santana's car and stares at the picture of her son.

OOOOO

When he finally talks to her once more, it's at three in the morning and he's drunk off of his ass. She picks up the phone with a bleary sounding, "Hello?" and then it's like he can't shut up.

"Your baby's fucking cute," he slurs, lying on his bed with the ultrasound photo clutched in his hand.

She lets out a breathy, confused laugh. "Thank you."

"You're cute."

He can hear her shifting around underneath her covers and he groans, wishing he were underneath her plush down comforter with his arms around her belly. "Thanks, Noah," she says, and this time she's definitely laughing.

"Fuckin'…fuckin' miss you," he grumbles, shutting his eyes. His thumb strokes across the photo absently.

"You just saw me a few hours ago, Noah."

"Not like _that_. Shit. Miss…I dunno. Everything."

She lets out this little breath over the phone, and it makes his heart jump a little. "Everything, Noah?"

"About you," he clarifies. "Us. I dunno."

"Us?"

"Don't you ever think about it? How we could've been?" She doesn't say anything, and he opens his eyes and looks at the picture of her son for the billionth time. "Shoulda been me."

"What?" She sounds shocked, and he doesn't blame her. God, he's gonna hate himself in the morning for all this sappy shit, but he's been thinking it for so damn long. He feels his eyes begin to droop, the alcohol and late hour making him sleepy.

"Hey, Rach?" he murmurs, barely coherent.

"Yes?" Fuck. She sounds like she's crying.

"S'good lookin' baby." She makes a strange noise in the back of her throat. The last thing he remembers before the phone slips from his hand and sleep takes over, are the words that fall from his lips.

"Wish he were mine."


	4. Chapter Four

**Title: **Anything But Ordinary  
**Rating: **T (Puck has a potty mouth)  
**Pairing: **Rachel/Puck, Rachel/OC, Rachel/Santana (friendship)  
**Disclaimer: **I wish. Really. I wish so much.  
**Author's Notes: **This is the second to last chapter of this fanfic. Thanks so much to everyone who's read and reviewed! It means a lot to me.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE 11/17/2011:** This chapter, and therefore fic, have been edited to include Klaine. I really have no idea what inspired me to kill Blaine off but I have rectified the situation.

* * *

Noah's late night confession goes mostly unspoken, but the dynamic between them changes. Before, Rachel had been treating him as more of a good friend. Now…she just _looks_ at him, with those big brown eyes, and there's something there that is so familiar but he can't put a name to it. Her hand lingers a little longer in his when he helps her out of the car. Her hugs are a little softer, more affectionate.

He can't tell if it's pity, or if something between them has changed.

Fuck. Maybe he shouldn't have admitted all that shit to her. Or, maybe it's good that he did. Cos it's not like it's a lie – there have been so many fucking times he's looked at the different pictures of the baby, seen the way he's growing and looking more real every ultrasound, and just wished it were his nose he could see forming, that his son was the one growing inside Rachel.

He's gonna be there for her, no matter what. He promised her that.

When he found out that Quinn was pregnant, the only reason that he wanted to be recognized as the father was because for one, it was really shitty of her to lie to Finn like that and potentially ruin his bro's life. And two, he spent most of his life living under the weight of people believing he would just be a deadbeat like his dad, and just wanted to prove to _someone_ that he would be better. He didn't want to be a dad then, but he felt like he needed to prove himself.

Now, as he looks down at the girl who's lying down next to him on the couch, her head resting on his thigh and hand covering his as it lies on her belly, there's nothing he wishes for more than to have it be his son growing beneath his hand.

OOOOO

He kisses her one night in the middle of an argument, and it feels so good to finally put his lips against hers that he can barely focus on anything else. It's his fault that they were fighting, anyway. Well, his and Santana's because fuck knows that bitch likes to stir shit up. Ever since he'd mistakenly told her about his drunken confession to Rachel, she'd been bothering the crap out of him, telling him that he needed to get laid.

She'd never specifically said whom he needed to sleep with, but he'd had a pretty good idea she'd meant Rachel. And no way in _hell_ was he gonna have sex with his pregnant ex-girlfriend. That shit was just not kosher. Still, he knew she was right – he was Noah Puckerman and it had been over a year since he'd last gotten any. He's long since abandoned his man-whoring ways, but he still loves sex. Sue him.

So, when this perky and young English substitute teacher walks into his office at McKinley High (he's the new head of athletics – there was some incident involving Coach Beiste and Sue Sylvester and them eloping together and he tries really fucking hard not to think about them getting it on) and flirts, he stifles the guilt he feels when Rachel flits across his mind and gives Madison his sexiest smile and watches as she practically melts in front of him.

It's almost too easy. He's come to appreciate the chase, and some hot-to-trot bottle blonde just isn't what he wants right now. But, maybe a quick lay is just what he needs.

Noah stops by Rachel's after school with a diet coke and a bag of sweet potato fries (she'd texted him earlier) and gives her a quick kiss on the cheek and tries to rush out of her house as quickly as possible.

"Wait!" she cries out, putting the food and drink on the counter and shuffling after him. He suppresses a groan and releases the door handle, turning to face her. "Where are you going? I thought we could watch a movie…"

"Gotta blow this popsicle stand, babe. Where're your dads?"

"Daddy's got a medical conference in Miami, and Dad's on a business trip to Baltimore to meet with a client," she says, waddling a little bit closer. Shit, he forgets sometimes that her dads are a lawyer and a neurosurgeon. No wonder Rachel's so god damn smart sometimes. "I bought that new Seth Rogen movie you were talking about. I thought you might want to watch it with me."

She looks so hopeful, and it makes his words taste like acid in his mouth. "Can't. Got a date tonight."

Rachel's face falls almost immediately, and he watches her cheeks flush bright red and then go pale. "Oh," she mutters, and turns away immediately. "Okay."

Noah groans, running a hand over his short hair. "Rach-"

She's disappeared into the kitchen at that point and he can hear her slamming cabinets and drawers. "I'm fine," she calls out, in a voice that clearly indicates otherwise. "You can leave now."

"Don't be like this," he says loudly, making his way back into the kitchen. "Please, babe-"

She whirls on him, dark hair flying around her face. Her eyes are large and bright and her stomach is so swollen that it makes her look tiny. He wants to pull her into his arms, but knows now would be the worst time to do so. "Don't call me that!" she cries out, shoving at his chest with bizarrely strong arms. He's not expecting it and he stumbled backwards a step or two, and widen his eyes at her. "I'm not your _babe._ I'm not your anything, except maybe a charity case!" She advances on him. "Go out with some slut, I don't care."

"What the fuck is your problem?" Noah growls and stares her down. He knew her hormones were out of whack but he hasn't seen her like this since they were dating. Understanding dawns on him. "You're jealous?"

She huffs and rolls her eyes hard in her head. "Of course not, don't be ridiculous."

"You're the one being fucking ridiculous. I can go out on dates if I want to."

"That's the problem, Noah!" she yells, waving her arms around in the air. "You _want_ to!" He stares at her and says nothing. He can't think of anything, honestly. This whole situation is too god damn weird for him. All he wanted to do was get laid, for fuck's sake.

"Uh, yeah," he finally says. "Of course. I haven't had sex in forever; it's about time my dick got some action."

Rachel squawks and covers her ears. "I can't believe you would say that to me!" She has tears in her eyes now, and he feels like the biggest asshole ever for making her upset. "I can't believe you're going out with some…some hussy you barely know!"

Noah leans down, looming over her so far that their foreheads are almost touching. "Who the hell do you suggest I fuck, Rachel?"

"I don't know…me!"

He stares at her, dumbstruck. "You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me."

Hurt blossoms in Rachel's eyes and she takes a step away from him. Tears are spilling out of her eyes, and she gapes at him with an expression of agony that he can't stand to see on her. "I…" she tries, the words dying on her tongue. She shakes her head, her high ponytail swishing around her neck. Unconsciously, her hands move to cradle her swollen belly in a gesture that's meant to protect herself and offer comfort. He's watching her shut herself off from him and he hates it. Her voice is dropped down to a whisper the next time she speaks. "I can't believe you'd say that to me."

"Rachel."

"Am I really that ugly?" she asks, more to herself than him. Her eyes are directed towards the floor, and he can see the tears dripping down her cheeks and falling onto the oversized T-shirt covering her pregnant stomach. "I know I've gotten fat and my face is puffy sometimes but…I thought…when you said…" She heaves a great sigh, full of sorrow and burden. "Never mind."

"Babe." He tries the name again, hoping that she won't reject him this time. He hates seeing her like this, and he always has. Sometimes, he thinks back on the days where he would throw crushed ice into her face and revel in the horror and shame that would sleep across her expression, and now he just feels total shame at the memory. And now he feels like even worse shit, because he just made a pregnant chick cry.

And not just any pregnant girl – the one he's in love with.

"Don't." she tells him again, voice trembling. "Noah. Just…just leave."

"I won't," he insists, stubborn as ever. "Not until you listen."

"Oh, I think I've heard enough." She still won't look at him, and it's really starting to piss him off. He's never had the best temper, especially not when it came to Rachel Berry and her stubborn attitude. "You can leave."

He grips her upper arms with his two much larger hands, and shakes her lightly. "Listen to me. Damn it, Rachel, _listen_."

He holds her until her eyes turn up towards him, defiant and hurt. "What," she snaps at him.

Suddenly, he can't help himself. She's looking at him with those big brown eyes he's been in love with for years, she's in his arms and he can feel her stomach pressing against his abs as a reminder of the life she's harboring inside of her these days. He licks his lips and drops his eyes to her mouth. "Rachel," he rasps, before hauling her up against him and crushing his mouth to hers. He manages to infuse years of frustration and missing her into this one kiss, and she melts against him almost immediately.

The fight leaves both of them as his hands move from her arms to cradle her head, softening his kiss when she lets out this little noise against his mouth. Her hands worm under his sweater and T-shirt and smooth up the muscles of his back, and she rakes her nails across his skin lightly because she knows it drives him crazy. He hasn't kissed this girl in years, and she still manages to make him lose control with just a kiss.

One of his hands leaves her head to smooth down her side, before coming to rest on her hip. He's still kissing her, tongue slipping in and out of her mouth, when he starts to rub circles against her skin with his thumb, and she gives a little gasp and moves her hands to his chest, pushing him away a little.

Noah frowns at her, unhappy that she's broken their embrace. "What-"

Rachel looks up at him, eyes widened with what looks like disbelief. "I…I felt…"

He feels his shoulders relax when he realizes that she isn't stopping the kiss for some bullshit reason. She hasn't let go of him, and she hasn't let him go very far, so he's taking that as a good sign. Still, he wants to know why she had to stop what was easily one of the ten best kisses of his life. "Babe, I don't understand…"

She pulls one of her hands out of his shirt and puts it on her belly, a look of concentrated awe blooming in her eyes. She waits, silently, and he watches her until her lips part and her eyes flutter and she whispers, "Oh." Rachel reaches around and grips the hand he has on her side, and pulls it to her front and presses his palm against her belly. She keeps it there for a little while, and he's just about to ask her if she's completely lost her mind when he feels it.

Something shifts and presses against his hand, prodding out towards him from underneath of Rachel's skin. "Holy shit," he murmurs, drawing Rachel closer and looking at her with hooded green eyes. "That him?"

"He's kicking," she confirms, looking down at where their joined hands are lying against her. "This is the first time I've ever felt it."

"S'fuckin' cool," he informs her, marveling at the sensation. "Our boy's a champ."

He doesn't seem to even notice what he's just said to her, and she smiles at him brightly. Ever since he admitted to her that he wished he was the father of her son, she's been entertaining fantasies that it was him and not David that she'd spent all that time with, and who had gotten her pregnant. He'd been unconsciously referring to the baby as his occasionally, and it always warms her heart tremendously whenever he did. She knows that if she ever pointed it out to him he would stop, and she doesn't want that to happen.

She hasn't heard anything from David since that ill-fated morning in New York, and she's happier for it. If he were in her life now, in constant contact, and interested in the life of his unborn bastard son, then she knows that she and Noah wouldn't have just been kissing. She doesn't even think Noah would have come to New York to see her.

Rachel doesn't know whether or not she would have ever seen him again, if she hadn't gotten pregnant. Maybe this baby's the catalyst for everything good that seems to have evaded her the past few months.

All she knows is that Noah Puckerman is standing in her kitchen, lips swollen from kissing, his eyes wide with awe, and his hand pressed against her stomach, and it's everything she's ever wanted.

"Who were you going out with?" she murmurs, all the fight having left her body the minute the baby shifted.

"Some sub at McKinley," he tells her, removing his hand so that he can shrug off his jacket. She almost smiles – it's a sign he's staying here with her, and not going out with another girl. "Asked me out for drinks, I said yes."

"Are you still going?"

He gives her a look, one of his eyebrows shooting upwards. "Obviously not." He pulls the small carton of sweet potato fries out of the grease-soaked bag, which he balls up and throws into the trash. "Can't leave my girl all alone, now can I?"

Rachel purses her lips at him. "You were going to, earlier."

"Well, that was earlier. Now is now, and I'm hungry." Noah grabs a plate from one of the cabinets and dumps the fries onto it, and she gives a little giggle at the face he makes. "Definitely not for this shit, though. I'm thinking Chinese or pizza."

He looks over at her and watches her face light up at the mention of a real dinner. "Or both?" she suggests, smiling. "I haven't really eaten anything today."

Noah frowns at her and reaches out with one hand to flick her in the shoulder. "You know you're not supposed to do that," he grumbles. He then crosses to the refrigerator and pulls out two different take-out menus and picks up the house phone to dial.

Rachel doesn't say anything, just perches herself on one of the chairs by the island in the kitchen, and watches Noah as he speaks. In the middle of asking for extra fortune cookies, he looks over and gives her a wink.

She beams back at him, and feels the baby give another kick. "I know," she whispers to her son. "I like him, too."

OOOOO

Their happy little bubble doesn't last too long before it bursts, and neither of them can be blamed for it. It's Easter weekend, and Rachel's fathers are letting her have all of the members of 'New Directions' from when she was at McKinley over to their house, since it's a bit larger than others.

Or, as Noah always describes it, "It's practically a fucking mansion."

Which, she generally disagrees with. While her family is pretty well off, she's seen mansions before and her house doesn't even come close. Compared to some of the houses in Lima, though, she can see where he's coming from with his assessment.

They're all gathered in her basement, music playing in the background (a playlist Kurt compiled of all the songs they ever sang, and Rachel has no idea how he had the time or the memory to make it) while the boys play on the Xbox that Sam had brought with him. Santana jumps in the game from time to time, only long enough to kill all the boys' characters and brag about it. Noah eventually pauses the game and lifts her bodily off of the coach, ignoring all of the Latina's flailing limbs and plops her down in a chair next to Tina.

Santana crosses her arms under her breasts and glares at Noah while everyone laughs around them at the spectacle they cause. Noah just rolls his shoulders and points at Santana forcefully, telling her, "Stop fucking being a killjoy," and goes back to the game.

Quinn laughs into her drink when she goes to take a sip, and Rachel giggles when some of the water splashes out around the blonde's mouth. She and Quinn might not have had the best relationship in high school, but for the last hour they've been sitting and quietly comparing pregnancies, and discussing the best shops to go to for maternity clothing. Kurt interjects occasionally, though he has no idea what it's like to suddenly have an infant growing inside of you, to offer some advice about shirts and dresses and jeans. It seems he's been doing his fair share of Google searches ever since it got through the grapevine that Rachel was pregnant, because he has a whole lot of information to give her. Blaine shakes his head at some of the things Kurt says, but looks at the older man with such affection that it makes Rachel's heart melt. Eventually, he excuses himself to go to the 'gaming couch' and snags the controller that Finn's left behind, and Kurt watches him go with a dreamy expression.

"So, that's still going well," Tina observes, chuckling as she shoves Kurt's shoulder lightly.

"Don't even get him started," Mercedes says loudly, laughing a little as she does. "That boy can take a mile a minute when it comes to him and Blaine." She leans into Rachel, tilting her head in a way that indicates secrecy. "There are some things that I do _not_ want to know about Kurt's sex life."

Santana gags a little. "Like, uh, anything?"

Kurt gives an exaggerated gasp, pressing a hand against his chest. "You wound me," he cries out, and none of them can stop the giggles that erupt from their circle. Kurt smirks at them, dropping the act. "He's started dropping hints about maybe getting married," he gushes, leaning in. "It's hard to believe I'd never though I could find someone like him and now…now, I have a ring buried in my dresser drawer, just waiting for the right moment to make a grand entrance."

The girls all squeal excitedly and Kurt grins, proud and unapologetic despite the deep red of his cheeks. Tina reaches over and plants a wet kiss on his cheek, tears slipping down her face already, and Rachel reaches out and squeezes his hand. "I'm so happy for you," she tells him, earnest.

Kurt shrugs, his own eyes glimmering. "He is…everything to me. And I'm going to marry him."

Santana, who's always been extremely uncomfortable in situations that require actual emotions, just blurts out, "It doesn't hurt that he's fine as hell."

Kurt isn't given a chance to respond because the basement door is thrown open, and Brittany stumbles in carrying a tray full of cupcakes and a gift bag covered with ribbons. "I'm sorry we're late!" she calls out cheerily, blonde hair a mess around her happy face. Rachel can see her dad and Artie at the door by the bottom of the stairs, the one that leads outside into the driveway. "I wanted to stop by Wal-Mart and get you something for the baby, Rachel. And then I got lost, and I couldn't find Artie because he left his phone in the car, so I was looking for him but then I went to the help desk and they helped me." She beams at everyone who's paying attention.

Kurt is the first to stand and move towards her, grabbing her in a bear hug. "God, I've missed you," he tells her, laughing.

Noah looks back from his place on the couch when Artie rolls in, and gives a solitary nod in greeting. "Sup, Wheels?"

Artie just responds with a wave. "Yo."

Eugene lingers in the doorway, and his presence doesn't escape his daughter's notice. He has a worried expression on his face, and Rachel feels her heart drop into her swollen feet. She pushes herself up out of the chair to walk over to him, and pulls the door to the party shut behind them. "What's wrong," she asks quietly.

He sighs, and runs a hand over his shaved head. "We have…" He struggles with the words, and anger lines his face. "A visitor."

"Who?"

The door to the basement stairs opens, and Nick comes walking down. His back and shoulders are stiff, and the look on his face could qualify as murderous. And then, with a cold feeling washing over her, Rachel knows exactly who's at the front door.

"David."

OOOOO

Unfortunately, he's just as handsome as the last time Rachel saw him. She can't help but feel a slight flutter in her chest when she looks at him for the first time in months, but it doesn't escape her notice that the baby doesn't move around the way he does whenever Noah's nearby.

"What," she hisses, striding towards him as best she can at eight months pregnant. "The hell do you think you're doing here?"

He looks at her with those damned eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. She notices, suddenly, the absence of a ring on his left hand. She doesn't know what that means. "I missed you," he tells her, voice dripping out of his mouth.

"Get out of my house," she tells him, quiet with anger. "Get off of my property, or I will call the police. I don't even know how you found me."

David ignores her. "Susan left me," he tells her, and Rachel couldn't care less. Distantly, she wonders how he hasn't noticed the sheer size of her stomach yet. "She found out about what I'd been doing, and took the kids and left."

He lets the words fall into an expectant silence, and Rachel just stands and gapes at him. "You can't be serious."

"I…" he drops his eyes, then, and they widen when he sees her stomach. Almost immediately, the sickly sweet act he'd been putting on drops, and the real David is front and center. When he lifts his face to her again, he has a look of snide anger and condescension that nearly knocks her down. "Well. Obviously _you've_ been busy."

She resists the urge to wrap her arms around herself. "Get out," she tells him again. "Now."

"Who's is it?" David asks, as if they're standing there talking about the weather. "Probably one of your faggy theater friends, am I right? Or maybe that fucking asshole who broke my cheekbone."

She gasps, and Nick bursts into the foyer from where he'd been eavesdropping in the next room over. "I suggest you leave immediately," he snarls up at the younger man, eyes burning. She knows her fathers, both of them, and how angry they get over the use of the 'f' word (and she doesn't mean "fuck"). She hates it just as much, but as much as she wants to walk over to David and treat him to another punch in the face, she can't seem to move. She shifts backwards until she collapses onto the stairs, tears pricking at her eyes.

The world fades out around her a little, and all she can hear is the thumping of her own heart and the muffled sounds of an argument.

OOOOO

He doesn't notice that Rachel's left the room until he feels a large and familiar hand clap down onto his shoulder. He pauses the game and looks behind him at Eugene's tight face and feels dread almost immediately. He shoots to his feet, searching the room for his girl. "What's going on?" he demands quietly.

"You better come with me."

Noah follows Eugene up the stairs, heart pounding in his ears. He doesn't realize that half of the people from glee have followed him in turn, curious to see what new drama is unfolding. It isn't until he's halfway up the stairs that he hears the sound of raised voices, and it takes him a minute to recognize the vaguely familiar timber he can hear coming from the front hall.

"Oh, _fuck_ no," he growls, and strides over to where Nick and David are arguing. Rachel's sitting on the stairs, hands wound through her curled hair, and he can see the tear tracks on her face. Before he even knows what he's doing, he's got both hands pressed up against David's chest and he's shoving him out the open front door.

David tumbles down the small staircase, shock giving him no balance whatsoever. Noah shifts personas almost immediately, becoming 'Puck' without a second thought. He doesn't have split personalities or anything, but anytime he feels the need to become a little violent and stupid, he recalls the way he was as a teenager and it's like he's an entirely different person.

"You're a fucking joke," he spits out, standing in the doorway. He takes careful steps down to where David lays on the ground, stunned. "Showing up months too late, for fucking _what? _Forgiveness?" Puck hauls the other man to his feet and twists his face into a smirk. "She's too good for you, asshole. And she knows it."

David, despite his struggle for air, manages to give a laugh. "She isn't," he wheezes. "She's just some slut who got herself knocked up. I knew I was better than-"

Whatever he's about to say, Puck doesn't let him finish because he's dropped David to the ground and gives him a good kick to the ribs. "You watch your fucking mouth," he yells, and he hears the whoops and hollers of the people in the house as they cheer him on. "You say one more god damn thing about her, if you ever try to come near her again, and I will _end you._"

The wail of police sirens sound in the distance, coming closer and closer until the patrol cars turn into the neighborhood and pull to a stop in front of the Berry household. Noah stands over David, chest heaving in fury as he looks down at the other man, who's groaning in agony. One of the police officers pulls him off and into the grass, and begins asking him questions about what's going on. Two others haul David to his feet and put handcuffs on him, and he's so dazed from Noah's kick that he doesn't even protest.

"He just showed up here," Noah tells the cop, not once taking his eyes off of the asshole who broke Rachel's heart. "Terrorized my girl. He got told to leave, and didn't. I just wanted him gone, you know?"

Just when he thinks he's about to be arrested for assault (even though that douchewad _totally_deserved it) Nick comes bustling out of the house and towards the police officer talking to Noah, and grabs his hand firmly. "Jerry, always good to see you."

Recognition dawns in the cop's eyes. "Nick! How've you been?"

The smaller man's face is grim when he responds. "Better. If it weren't for Noah here, I don't doubt this afternoon would have gotten much worse."

Jackpot. With the cop officially distracted and David being toted away in a police car, Noah turns on his heel and heads inside. All the guys clap him on the back as he makes his way towards Rachel, who hasn't moved since he came upstairs. "You okay?" he murmurs, brushing her hair out of her face.

She pulls her arms around herself tighter and he frowns when he sees her grimace. "Rachel. What's going on?"

She swallows thickly, and looks up at him with tear-filled eyes. "I…I think…" Her hand shoots out and grips his arm, fingers digging into his skin painfully. "Oh," she whimpers, clenching her eyes shut firmly.

"Baby, you're scaring me," he tells her, and he can feel himself beginning to panic. "Is it the baby?"

She doesn't respond, keeping her eyes clenched firmly shut. "Rachel!"

Rachel lets out a gasping breath, pained eyes finally flickering open and meeting Noah's concerned gaze. Her words make his stomach crawl into his throat and his heart stop beating.

"It's too soon," she says, sounding near tears. "It's not supposed to happen today!"

"What, Rachel?" he asks her, even though he already knows the answer.

She licks her lips. "My water broke," she whispers. "The baby's coming. Now."


	5. Chapter Five

**Title: **Anything But Ordinary  
**Rating: **T (Puck has a potty mouth)  
**Pairing: **Rachel/Puck, Rachel/OC, Rachel/Santana (friendship)  
**Disclaimer: **I wish. Really. I wish so much.  
**Author's Notes: **Uhh. Hey there, everybody...soooo. I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. I know it's been a while since I last updated, and to be honest with you it wasn't for lack of reasons. I could sit here and type up everything that's gone wrong in the past few weeks (the culmination of which was a death in the family this previous Friday) but I'm fairly certain only a handful of you ever actually read these things. I know I usually scroll right on by ANs, personally. This is the last chapter of this fanfiction, and I want to thank everyone who's reviewed and favorited and even just looked at it. It means a lot to me! I was kind of nervous to venture into Glee FF because I know how brutal some of the ship communities can be, but all of you have been amazing!

**AUTHOR'S NOTE 11/17/2011:** This chapter, and therefore fic, have been edited to include Klaine. I really have no idea what inspired me to kill Blaine off but I have rectified the situation.

* * *

He pukes. It's not his best moment.

The minute the words fall from her lips, he stares at her for a solid thirty seconds, before he stands and turns towards the front door. He can hear Quinn muttering to Rachel behind his back, but the second he's outside and fresh air hits his face, he grips the railing that goes around the porch, leans over calmly, and empties the contents of his stomach into the bushes.

"Noah!" he hears Rachel cry out in concern. He wipes his mouth on the back of one hand and presses the other against his toned abdomen. Nervousness has set in, and it's making him feel nauseated. He's always had this problem – if he gets too stressed out, he barfs. It's gotten better since he was a kid, pretty much because he's the shit now and doesn't have too much to stress out over. The knowledge that Rachel's son is coming into the world sends him hurling into a dizzy spiral, and he sits down on the porch swing with a loud 'thump.'

He can vaguely hear the hustle and bustle of everyone inside as they run around, grabbing their coats and purses and car keys. He can hear the sound of Rachel groaning and Quinn's attempts at settling the other girl's nerves. He can hear the footsteps creaking against the wood as someone approaches him where he sits, and he sees the hand held out in front of him that's holding a box of Altoids.

His eyes drift up the arm that the hand belongs to, and sees Blaine looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "Take one," he urges, tossing the mints into Noah's lap. "You smell like vomit."

"Thanks," Noah scowls.

Blaine grins at him and just shrugs. "Not a problem." Then, he gestures over his shoulder towards the door to the house. "You might want to get back in there. Rachel's kind of freaking out."

That, more than anything, brings Noah to his feet. He pops open the metal tin and tosses three mints into his mouth, crunching them with his teeth almost immediately. He hands the Altoids back to Blaine as he passes him, rushing to get back to where Rachel's crying on the stairs. He kneels in front of her and grips her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Where's your bag?" he asks her, firmly.

She licks her lips once and then her face contorts in pain. "It's um…It's under my…under my bed."

Noah looks up at Santana, who's already halfway up the stairs. "I got it," she tells him over her shoulder.

"Thanks."

Brittany, for her part, looks like Christmas has come early. Her eyes are wide and bright with excitement as she kneels down next to Rachel. "I can't wait to meet your baby!" she cries out, giving the uncomfortable girl a tight hug. "He's going to be so cute!" She beams at Artie over her shoulder. "I want one!"

Artie's face pales dramatically, and he seems to choke on air. He and Brittany have been together for a long time, but he _really _doesn't want to talk about this with her right now. Noah would laugh if he weren't about to literally shit his pants. He rubs his large hand up and down Rachel's back when she hunches forward to put her head as far between her knees as best she can. "It's too early," Rachel moans into her hands. "He's not due for another month! I don't even have a name picked out, yet!" She lifts her head and stares at Noah with red and tearful eyes. "How can I have a baby when I don't even know what I'm going to name him?" she sobs, pressing her forehead into his shoulder.

He presses a kiss against her temple and shuts his eyes. The whole fucking world is spinning around him and he doesn't know what to tell her. He's not ready for this, either.

Something falls down to the ground behind him when Santana drops the bag down from the landing between bedrooms. "Uh, dude," she says, addressing Noah. "Don't you think you should, I don't know, get her to a god damn hospital?"

Oh, _shit_. That's right. She needs to go to one of those.

"Fuck," he mutters, before ducking his head underneath one of Rachel's arms. He pulls her into her arms and stands, lifting her off the stairs and into his arms bridal style. "Can someone get her bag?" he barks out, before moving towards the front door. "Where are my fucking keys?"

"Noah," Rachel whimpers from his grasp. "Language."

He's about to say something to her in response to that, but Kurt flies by and beats them to it. He's got the pillow from Rachel's bedroom shoved under one arm, a digital camera dangling from one wrist, and a camcorder clasped firmly in one hand. "_Fuck_ his language!" he cries out, rushing out to Noah's truck and throwing the passenger door open, then stands there, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "You're having a baby! Get in the car!"

Rachel lifts her head up off of Noah's chest and gapes at overly excited young man. Blaine passes by next, holding the keys to his convertible in one hand and Kurt's jacket in the other. "I wouldn't be surprised," he tells them as he walks out the front door. "He's been waiting for this for _months._ I think he's convinced that if he pampers you, you'll make him godfather."

Rachel looks like she's considering it, and Noah just growls into her ear, "Oh hell no. Not _my_ kid."

She's almost reminds him that it's not really even his baby, but a sudden contraction keeps her from making that mistake. "Hospital," she murmurs.

He finally leaves the Berry household, cradling Rachel in his arms like a child, and the stomping footsteps belonging to the other glee members follow him out onto the sidewalk. "I guess we've got company," he says, loud enough for them to hear.

"Uh, of fucking course," Santana snaps, throwing her purse into her Lexus. Quinn climbs into the passenger seat and Sam and Tina get into the back. "You really think my best friend goes into labor in front of _everybody_, and I'm not gonna be there? I don't know what these losers are so interested in, but they aren't about to miss it either."

The word 'losers' is spoken with affection. Or, about as much affection as Santana can infuse into a word.

Brittany and Eugene are helping Artie into Brittany's wheel-chair compatible SUV when Rachel buckles herself into Noah's car, and he takes off immediately, heading for the hospital where Eugene works. He would have thought that, in this situation, he'd be ignoring every single traffic law imposed in Lima and speeding along, but he can't seem to bring himself to go faster than the speed limit. He's suddenly terrified that he's going to hit a bump and she'll get jostled around and what if it hurts the baby?

When he goes over one of the worse potholes in the city, the glove box pops open and a couple of things spill out of it. "Damn it," he growls, glaring at the compartment briefly. "Fucking thing's been doing that lately."

Rachel leans down as best she can to gather up the loose papers and various items that have fallen to the seat of the car, when her attention is grabbed by a small box covered in navy velvet. Noah sees her pick it up when he stops at a red light, and groans to himself.

"What's this?" she asks him, voice all breathy and eyes wider than ever.

He runs his hand over his hair, nervously. He can feel his stomach churning. "It's uh…well, fuck, Rach. I bought it like a month ago, and I was gonna ask you before the baby was born only now…well, the damn kid's coming today and I haven't asked you." The light turns green and he presses down on the accelerator, still babbling as he drives. "And it's not like I'd want to, you know…right away. But I figured I'd lost you once, I'm not fucking losing you again. And even though this kid's not mine, I wanna be in his life."

She opens up the box, hands shaking with pain and nerves, and gasps at the contents. An oval shaped pink diamond sits on a silver band, with two small triangular diamonds on either side. It's simple (and pink, she notes again happily) and the sight of it fills her eyes with tears. "Oh," she whispers, the words on the tail end of a small sob. "Noah."

"It's not because you're pregnant," he interjects loudly, looking over at her for a second before redirecting his gaze to the road ahead of him. "I've had that ring for…"

He stops speaking, abruptly. Rachel reaches over and pokes him in the thigh. "How long?" she asks him tone as gentle as she can make it through the blinding contraction about to rip through her body. "How long have you had the ring, sweetheart?"

She hears his breath catch in his throat, and she almost smiles. During their relationship, she had very rarely called him anything other than 'Noah' or occasionally even 'baby,' but each and every time she ventured to call him anything different, he would get this goofy grin on his face. She makes a mental note, around all the pain she's in, to call him 'sweetheart' more often.

Noah's hands flex around the steering wheel and he licks his lips when they pull up to another stoplight. "My dad's parents were like, filthy fucking rich. I can't remember them…something about a plane crash when I was three? I dunno. But they had this whole trust fund or inheritance or some shit set up for my dad but they cut him out when he…you know."

The words 'beat the shit out of my mom and broke my two-year-old arm' go unspoken, but Rachel knows the story. It had been divulged to her late one July night, when they had been lying down on a couple of blankets in the bed of his truck and staring at the stars.

Noah clears his throat. "Anyway. When he bailed, the inheritance or whatever it is got transferred to me and Hannah since we were their only grandkids. When I turned twenty-one I got half of my share, and when Hannah turns twenty-one we'll both get all the money." He shrugs, trying to act like it isn't a big deal. "Got a savings account and threw most of it in there. But some I kept for, you know. Helping my mom out, getting my own place…"

"Buying me a ring," Rachel supplies helpfully.

Noah scowls over at her. "Yeah, well. You weren't supposed to get it like this. Didn't want you to think I was asking you just cos of the baby."

"Why are you asking me, Noah?"

Kurt leans over across the front seat of Blaine's car and presses the heel of his hand against the horn, blaring it loudly at Noah and Rachel. The former looks up and sees that the light is green, curses, and continues driving Rachel to the hospital. He doesn't respond, and he hopes that the horn was enough to distract Rachel from her question.

"Noah. Why did you buy me the ring."

Of fucking course it wasn't. This is Rachel Berry he's talking about, how did he think he could possibly distract her from shiny jewelry?

"Cos," he says, and the rest of his words are an indistinguishable mumble. She cocks an eyebrow at him and he almost growls, banging his head back against he headrest. "It's because I fucking love you, alright? So…so just put the god damn thing on your finger and marry me."

He doesn't look over at her and he doesn't say another word. It isn't until he's pulled into the hospital parking lot and she slides her hand over his that he even knows she's got the ring on her finger.

The slightly warmed silver presses against the back of his hand. He looks at Rachel's hand, adorned now with the ring he bought her, and then moves his gaze towards her face. "Noah," she tells him gently. "I love this ring. I love you. But if you don't get me inside that hospital right now, I _will_ have this baby in your truck."

He's never moved faster. No way is he getting placenta in his seats. Plus, you know. He's kind of excited to meet this kid.

"Besides," Rachel grits out, and her hand constricts around his own. "You can ask me properly when I'm not in labor."

OOOOO

In a blur of action, they soon have Rachel inside the hospital and in a bed, and she looks even more dwarfed than usual by the enormous hospital gown they've put her into. She's struggling through another contraction and gripping three of his fingers (the doctor had given him very strict instructions not to let Rachel hold his whole hand, since he was more likely to wind up with broken fingers that way) and all Noah can do is sit there and watch and feed her ice chips.

Quinn and Kurt are sitting in fold out chairs near the bed, and while Kurt flips lazily through a fashion magazine, Quinn leans forward and whispers something into Rachel's ear. The dark haired girl nods tiredly, and whispers, "I know."

Noah frowns. "What's up?"

Rachel's head lolls towards him. "She told me," she pants, still trying to catch her breath from thelast contraction. "To take the damn epidural."

Kurt blanches and the magazine shakes a little in his hands. "Does…does that mean a big needle?" he whimpers.

Quinn and Rachel (and Santana, who's perched on the arm of the recliner Noah's sitting in) seem to sense an opportunity to temporarily get rid of Kurt, and all three look at him with identical expressions. "Huge," Quinn tells him, laying a comforting hand on his thigh. He shoots to his feet almost immediately.

"I, um. I think I'm going to go find Blaine and see if he needs…things."

He scurries out of the room, and Rachel breathes out a little chuckle. Noah leans forward and presses a firm kiss against her sweaty forehead. "You're doin' so good, baby."

"Doing well."

"Really? You correct his grammar _now_?" Santana shakes her head. "Berry. You are crazy."

"Fuck off, San," Noah says, pulling his hand out of Rachel's death grip and flexing his fingers. He watches as they regain color, blood circulating to the digits for the first time in about half an hour.

The doctor sweeps into the room a few minutes later, and Rachel very loudly demands the drugs to numb her system. Noah holds her hand throughout the entire process of inserting the epidural, and tries his hardest not to laugh when Kurt chooses that moment to come back into the room. He takes one look at the needle approaching Rachel, and turns on his heels and walks swiftly out of the room once more. Puck can hear his horrified babbling to the rest of the waiting room, and it makes him smirk.

When the drugs kick in, Rachel gets a hazy, happy smile on her face. "Oh," she murmurs, settling against the pillows. "This is much, much better."

Noah kisses the backs of her fingers, and she feels his lips curve against her skin. He's gonna go ahead and take this time with drugged Rachel and cherish it, because he knows that soon enough, she's going to want to kill him.

OOOOO

She's in labor for thirteen hours before her son decides it's finally time to make his entrance.

Labor hurts, even with the epidural. Crowning hurts even more. She's screaming and sweaty and has one hand firmly wound up in the fabric of Noah's shirt. There are at least four different doctors in the room with her right now, two of which are kneeling between her legs. "Oh, God!" she cries out, lolling her head to the side and making panicked eye contact with Noah. "M-Make it stop!" she pleads with him, before her eyes roll back into her head and she lets loose another guttural scream. "Get this baby out of me!"

"Sweetie," Nick pipes up from his spot against the wall. "Try and lower your voice a little. You might be upsetting other patients."

Rachel's head whips up and she glares at her father, a violent look on her face that was framed by matted and sweaty hair. "Are you KIDDING!" she shrieks, and the sheer volume of her voice makes everyone in the room wince. "I am giving BIRTH. YOU LOWER YOUR VOICE."

Nick, properly chastised, doesn't speak again. Eugene shoots him a look that clearly says 'Now, why did you do that?'

"Okay, Rachel," the doctor says, peering up at her from over the mask he has on his face. "I can see the baby's head. I just need you to give me a couple more big pushes, and then you get to meet your son."

Noah grins behind his own surgical mask. Seriously, he cannot fucking _wait_ to see this kid.

Rachel, it seems, doesn't share the sentiment.

She lets out a noise that sounds like a sob and shuts her eyes firmly. Her entire body, previously clenched and slumped with pain and tension, slumps backwards against the pillows and hospital bed. She balls her free hand into a fist and presses it against her forehead, and begins to cry. "I can't," she tells them, sounding exhausted and terrified. "I can't do it, Noah. I'm…I'm so tired."

Noah scowls at her from where he stands. He jerks on her hand and tries to get her attention, and when that doesn't work he leans in close to her and grips her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Hey. What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm tired," she whispers, tears welling up in her eyes. "Noah…I can't do this. I'm not ready."

"Shut up," he tells her, eyes serious as they look down at her. "Are you kidding me? You're Rachel fucking Berry. You can do anything."

She smiles a little bit up at him. "Really?"

"Fuck yeah, babe." He pulls the mask down his face and tucks it under his chin so that he can free his lips. "Listen. You never took shit from anybody in high school. You made it out of Lima, made it on Broadway, and you didn't ever let anybody tell you no. You're really gonna let a baby bring you down?"

Rachel grins at him, eyes bright and happy once again. He presses a firm kiss to her sweat covered forehead. "Let's have this baby," she says, and pushes herself back up. She nods at the doctor. "Let's do it."

It takes about five great big heaving pushes, but finally the shrill cry of a newborn baby breaks into the room. Rachel lets out a relieved sob and finally relaxes against the pillow, and her knees feel entirely too weak. The doctor hands a pair of surgical scissors to Noah, and he's too busy staring at the screaming, bloody, weird looking creature in the nurse's hands to pay attention to a pair of fucking scissors. Eugene takes them instead, and cuts the umbilical cord with steady surgeon's hands.

Noah can't stop looking at Rachel, and she has her eyes cast in the direction of her crying son. He doesn't take his eyes off of her – he can't – until the baby's placed on her chest, and that bright red, distraught looking little face is turned towards him and he can't fucking breathe.

He extends a finger slowly, carefully, until he strokes the baby's cheek with his trembling touch. "Holy shit," Noah breathes. "He's…Jesusfuck, Rach. He's amazing."

"He is," she agrees, sounding breathless and exhausted and proud. "Noah…" she looks up at him, eyes shining. "I love you."

He nods, still staring at the baby. "You too," he agrees. "Love you so much." He tangles his other hand in her hair and pulls her temple against his pursed lips, kissing her firmly. He drags his finger over the baby's face again, and is honestly astonished when the child briefly quiets down, and peers up at them with the bright blue eyes of a newborn.

"What are you going to name him?" Nick asks, voice muffled and teary. He's been buried against Eugene's chest, sobbing in happiness, and has finally broken himself away long enough to hover over his grandson.

"We…hadn't really discussed it," Rachel says, and she sounds a hell of a lot more calm than she did earlier. "But I've had some thoughts."

Noah raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

She nods, cradling the baby against her. "Jonah," she says quietly, and the baby's eyes flicker towards her. "Jonah Abbot."

"Jonah Abbot Berry," Noah muses, brushing Rachel's hair back absently. "'S good name."

"Jonah Abbot _Puckerman_," Rachel corrects, tone bossy. "If you think I'm not taking your name when we get married, you have another think coming, Noah Elijah Puckerman."

He lets out a loud laugh, and barely notices when Nick and Eugene vacate the room to give the small new family their space. "So that's a yes then?" he asks, cocking an eyebrow and smirking at her. "I thought I was supposed to ask you again."

"I'm too tired," she says, frankly. "We're getting married, Noah. You're just going to have to learn to live with it."

Noah Puckerman, clad in a child-birth safe hospital gown, stares down at the girl he's been hopelessly in love with for years and the son that isn't really his, and smiles.

"Yeah," he murmurs, making sure he's got a hand touching both of the people in his family. "Sounds about perfect to me."

**finis**


End file.
